The Misfortunate
by XShatteredNightmareX
Summary: Sherlock and John are out late on a case when the unexpected and unfortunate happens leaving everyone quite baffled. Sherlock Holmes isn't all quite who he appears to be. Wrote this one up in about half an hour. But I'm pretty satisfied with it. I love a good Vampire!Lock fanfic, so I decided to write one of my own. I MAY continue this if I feel up to it. Enjoy!


It was too damn late.

Sherlock glanced down at his watch that was contently ticking away. This was ridiculous. How long was he supposed to stand out here? He didn't particularly mind standing out here in the cold as it never seemed to bother him. He had adapted to London's chilly atmosphere, but one thing that he still had not adjusted to were the annoying sods that Lestraude constantly brought around with him. These people were more irritating to him than a thorn in a shoe that you just couldn't seem to get out. They were just plain intolerable to the consultant detective for almost no reason at all. There were days where they made him wish he was dead.

How close that reality would be that night.

His colleague, John Watson just happened to tag along on this late and most unpleasant expedition. He was tired, in a sour mood and loathing this late night case just as much as Sherlock was. He needed sleep. They /all/ could have used a good sleep. He brought a hand up to his mouth and yawned, feeling incredibly dozy and wishing to take a nap right there and then on the pavement. But nothing like that was going to happen until they got word from the detective inspector.

At last, Lestraude, Donahvin and Anderson all exited the building and crossed the police tape. Two of the three had quite disapproving looks on their faces. Sherlock rolled his eyes with a fed up exhale of breath. "My god, I feel like I've aged a couple decades waiting for you three!" He remarked bitterly. They said nothing. "Well? Was I right? I was, wasn't I?" He said, a bit more calmly. Convinced that he had solved another mediocre case.

"Sherlock…." John quietly scolded like a parent to a child who had said too much.

"Yeah, yeah…take your boasting somewhere else. We got a body to clean up here." Lestraude's tone of voice indicated that Sherlock and John weren't the only one in a bad mood due to the lateness of which he was called in. It was nearly midnight.

"I don't mean to argue, Detective inspector; but I wasn't talking to you." Sherlock clarified and eyed the other two with a faint smile. "…well?"

"Oh, you can go to hell freak!" Donahvin snapped and turned aside.

Sherlock reacted to this oppositely to this. He felt quite flattered.

"Why thank you….We'll be on our merry way right now! What a wonderful waste of time this was." Sherlock said as he turned away slowly, his gaze didn't focus on the street until he had stepped off of the curb. But as soon as he did, he found himself confronted by two, bright headlights zooming towards him at a tremendous speed. His feet felt frozen on the ground and he couldn't move an inch as he starred into that blinding light.

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted. His voice echoing across the road.

Had the warning come just a bit sooner the large truck would have been avoided easily. But it was simply _too damn late. _Too late to get out of the way and too late for the driver to stop. The truck slammed into Sherlock's body at such a force that it was pulled under the engine and beneath the vehicle. The double set of wheels rolled over his body and presumably crushed his bones with might and strength beyond human survival.

The truck drove off, presumably the driver was too scared and/or guilty to come back and turn himself in. None of them caught the license plate.

John, Lestraude, Donahvin and Anderson all starred wide eyed at was supposed to be a wretched mess of bone, flesh, fabric and blood. Nobody could survive a hit from a truck like that and be anything but road kill. But to their great surprise, Sherlock's body was surprisingly intact. He was laying face down, his arms sprawled upwards on the road. But this didn't change the fact that for a brief moment, they believed the world's only consultant detective to be dead. None of them would have acted so sourly towards him if they had known these were going to be his last moments alive.

But they were all mistaken.

For Sherlock had an array of tricks up his sleeve. Immorality was one of them. None of them would ever believe that Sherlock Holmes was anything more than human, despite his often inhuman abilities. But believe it or not, Donahvin wasn't too far off when she referred to Sherlock as a "freak" moments ago.

Sherlock Holmes, the consultant detective….did not live in the realm of the living or dead, but the undead. He was, by nature….a Vampire.

John despaired when he thought that his only friend in the world was deceased. So you can imagine his shock and surprise when he detected a twitch of faint life from Sherlock's limbs. Lestraude's jaw dropped two whole inches when he saw Mr. Holmes bend his arms and pushed his palms flat against the pavement. He got up on one knee and hoisted himself off of the ground. It was a miraculous thing to witness. Especially since you believed that person to be dead.

"My god…" Anderson mouthed in disbelief.

Honestly, the worst than anyone could detect on his body were a few scratches and torn seams on his coat. But otherwise he looked more like he had tripped and fallen rather than getting run over by a several ton truck. He dusted himself off and looked up at the four of them, amused by their incredulous expressions.

Sherlock didn't panic. No, not at all. He wasn't alarmed in the slightest that those four people had accidentally discovered his true nature. If anything, he was delighted and decided to bask in their confusion. Take this one chance to lavish himself in it.

He smiled. His lips parted and he chuckled in that deep voice of his. His grey-emerald eyes glistening in the moonlight.

"My, my…you four look as though you've seen a ghost."


End file.
